You Could Turn This Way
by printfogey
Summary: Set a few years before the start of canon. Mitsuba makes the acquaintance of a passing traveller.


AUTHOR'S NOTES: This fic is set a few years before the start of the canon, with no particular spoilers beyond Mitsuba's arc. The title of the fic comes from one English translation of a classic haiku: _You could turn this way/I am also lonely/This autumn evening_ (Bashō).

Many thanks to my amazing beta Tonko. Any remaining faults are my responsibility. Constructive criticism and other feedback is very welcome!

DISCLAIMER: The characters of Gintama belong to their creator Hideaki Sorachi. They are used here without permission for entertainment purposes only. This fic is not to be used for profit and should not be reposted elsewhere without the writer's approval.

* * *

In Mitsuba's home town, there were two bigger shrines dedicated to local kami. One of them was a lot larger than the other. It was situated in a beautiful place which wasn't far from the town centre, with several shrine buildings, adjacent to a Buddhist temple whose monks and priests took care of the shrine and lived there. Its kami was seen as more important, and it was popular and well-visited.

The other shrine was a lot smaller and further off from most, with a less important kami, no resident priests, and fewer buildings and visitors. Its upkeep was more sporadic, which gave it a wilder, more unkempt appearance. But it wasn't too far away from Mitsuba's own house, and she thought it had a charming and peaceful feel all its own. She'd taken to use it as a frequent goal for evening walks, if she had no errands taking her elsewhere. Her doctor had told her it would be good for her to take walks, as long as she didn't push herself too much.

One early afternoon in autumn she set off in that direction, the trees in bright colours all around her. She had just said goodbye at home to Aunt Natsue, a friend of the family who'd come by to tell her that the marriage-meeting she had help arranged was regretfully cancelled. Aunt Natsue had been rather apologetic about the whole thing, but Mitsuba was honestly more relieved than anything else. She did feel some guilt herself about that relief, but she swept that away as she set out on her walk, for the air was so fresh and nice, the autumn colours so beautiful.

Her body couldn't quite keep up with her mood, however, and by the time she reached the steps to the shrine she had to stop for a bad cough and try to stabilise her breathing. Perhaps she ought to have turned back and gone home, but that would have felt like defeat. Stubbornness made her persist as she bowed before entering the gate and then climbed up the steps into the shrine. It was almost empty.

Years ago, a storm had torn down a large tree close to the entrance. The trunk had been allowed to remain where it was; it was now a welcome place to rest for a few moments without bothering anyone. Right now, a wandering monk was sitting there. He looked up at her approach, putting some pieces of paper he'd been looking at inside his sleeves.

"Good afternoon," she said, and he returned the greeting in a low voice. The stranger had fine, young-looking features, long hair, and an impassive, monk-like expression. His begging-bowl was turned upside-down beside him, next to a knapsack on the ground, his monk's staff leaning on the tree trunk. Red maple leaves surrounded him, a few of them even sticking to the top of his wide-brimmed hat.

She walked further into the shrine at a slow pace, stopping to make a coin offering followed by a silent prayer. Another cough came over her right then, which was embarrassing. _Please let this pass quickly,_ she prayed hastily.

On the way back through the shrine, she was overcome by a wave of nausea and dizziness. _How troublesome,_ she thought wearily. She really would have to sit down and gather her strength before moving on.

The wandering monk hadn't moved, but there was plenty of space on that tree trunk, so she bowed to him again and sat down a bit further away on it, legs unsteady. It felt like an imposition all the same, but there was no help for it.

"Oh my," she mumbled weakly, putting one hand on her chest and sitting very straight, attempting to control her breathing. She only looked at the ground, but she heard rustling from where the monk was sitting.

"Ah…if you're feeling poorly, this helps against nausea." She glanced over, seeing him hold out a small flask towards her. "You can drink it as it is, it's already diluted."

"I…no, that's not necessary," she said uncertainly, "I'll be fine…" Another wave, and now she was coughing. She reddened, feeling frustrated: this was no way to behave at a shrine. The man kept holding out the flask, extending it further towards her. After yet another moment's hesitation, she accepted it. "…That is very kind of you, lord monk. Thank you."

She took one mouthful of the medicine, swallowed carefully, and sat still with the flask in her hand, taking long breaths. The taste was bland to her, with just a tinge of bitterness, but the texture was thick and not too agreeable. She felt a heat rise quickly to her head and down to her chest, then recede until there was a new stability in her stomach.

"That helped," she said with a relieved smile, giving him the bottle back. "Thank you ever so much."

He only nodded, putting the bottle into one of his sleeves. "This is a lovely shrine," he observed.

"I think so, too!" she said, delighted, then remembered as a local she shouldn't show too much pride. "Well, it's very small and there aren't too many who visit it, so they don't keep it up that well… But I do like it," she added softly.

She glanced at him as they kept talking, moving on to the crisp autumn weather as subject, speculating if there would be rain soon. It felt a bit like prying, but because she felt herself in his debt, she gave him a closer look, now, wanting to see if there was some way for her to help him in return. Thus she noticed details like how he favoured his left arm over his right, the stiff movement of his right shoulder; and how he froze a couple of times as he moved, his facing assuming a carefully blank expression that might have been to mask pain.

After they'd chatted a few more minutes, she felt stronger and stood up.

"I must be on my way. Pardon the trouble." She hesitated, then continued, more softly, "If you're not in a hurry to journey on, lord monk, I was thinking of coming here again in a few hours. I would like to repay your kindness."

He looked surprised, even alarmed. "Oh. That's not nece-"

She interrupted him, gently but firmly, "I have been told walks are good for me. So I will be here in any case." Unless she'd be feeling too poorly, but she didn't want to add that. She bowed her head. "If we don't meet again, I wish you luck on your road." Steady again, she climbed down the steps, slowly but without the dizzy head or tight chest.

* * *

Hours later, she was feeling a lot better as she returned to the shrine. The monk from before was still there, standing close to the gate and talking to one of the local priests quietly. The three of them exchanged "good evening"s as she walked past them with a polite bow. This time she didn't make a coin offering, as it seemed greedy to do two wishes on the same day. When she walked back towards the gate, the local priest had already left, but the wandering monk remained, sitting down on the tree-trunk again. He seemed a little pale and tired to her eyes. She bowed again and handed over two of her favourite rice crackers and then a roll of bandages, then sat down next to him once more in order to catch her breath.

The bandages were just a guess, and would have been useless if his stiffness was in fact the result of an old injury. But there was gratefulness as well as surprise in his face, and after some polite back-and-forth he accepted them. So she had guessed right. She sat back, content, and urged him to try the rice crackers.

He bit into one of them; abruptly froze; and grew very red in the face before practically throwing himself onto his water bottle, which he drained to the bottom, followed by coughing. Ah, too bad. Looked like this was yet one more person Mitsuba wouldn't be able to convince of the excellence of spicy taste.

But when she offered him a bag of those same crackers all the same (not giving up easily), the monk opened his mouth, closed it, and took some time to answer, looking pensive. Finally, he mumbled, as if to himself, "It might just come in useful", and she handed the bag over.

She nodded to herself, pleased. It made sense that a traveller wouldn't discard a source of emergency food. And who knew - he might just grow fond of them, in time!

After that, they talked a little more. She introduced herself and then remarked that since he was injured, he should perhaps not try to journey on tonight, at least not on foot. He replied that he had in fact decided to stay in town for the night.

"I'd been hoping to meet a few comrades – brother monks – in this town, but they haven't made it here yet, it seems." He cleared his throat before continuing, "For that reason and for my slight injury, I'm staying until tomorrow at least. Perhaps a little longer. I've already found accommodations, so don't worry, Mitsuba-dono."

* * *

Somehow, it felt easy to talk to him about this and that, good things and not so good ones, including some of her troubles and uncertainties. She did keep her voice calm, often light, with either a smile on her face or having one in easy reach - most of the time. But talking to him of such things didn't feel impossible or shameful or unnecessary or like she was burdening him, unlike how it was with people she knew.

He would soon leave this town when his wounds had healed, or when he met or could hear from his brother monks. (Hear by mail, likely: even if he hadn't been too poor to own a portable Amanto telephone, those didn't work well out here yet. You couldn't get reception.) The two of them might well never meet again. And surely the monk had seen and heard of much worse troubles in his day, despite his young-looking features.

While he was usually an attentive listener, sometimes he would get a distant, distracted look on his face, as if he was many _ri_ away in his mind. When she made it to the shrine on the third day, she saw him gaze into the air at what proved to be a spider and its web, looking on it as if transfixed, murmuring something inaudible. It reminded her of nothing so much as little children making up pretend games on their own to order the world around them to their liking. Sō-chan had done that a lot.

Perhaps it was because he had another such distracted moment that he had never wound up telling her his name when she gave him hers, on that first day. Perhaps there were other reasons. But Mitsuba had no wish to press him. Even if she knew it, she would have just kept calling him "lord monk", anyway, as was proper.

* * *

In a small town like hers, most any stranger who stayed for more than one day would elicit at least some comment, even just a nobody wandering monk. Mitsuba heard mentions of her new acquaintance when making purchases in town without having asked anything, and indeed without even wanting to listen closely. Apparently he was staying with Mine, the butcher's assistant, a large and quiet man who rarely smiled and who some people regarded as a little odd himself, though Mitsuba had always found him perfectly agreeable. She had heard, though, that he might have been a monk himself once upon a time, so in that case it made sense.

She didn't try to find out anything more: in fact, she deliberately changed the subject and, as she walked home at a slow pace, she steered her mind away from further speculations on the issue. She could be as curious as anyone else, but this time she didn't want to. He was a nice man who she enjoyed talking to while he was passing through. That was all. Selfishly, she didn't want to know anything more.

* * *

A letter arrived from Sō-chan, most welcome as always, so much strength and youth and affection in it. He'd been promoted again, his new position in the Shinsengumi unprecedented for his age. She'd have to write back to tease him that the force was new enough that almost any position change would be unprecedented in one way or other. But she had no doubt his advances were remarkable. It also meant a raise, and of course that also meant he was sending back more money for her. She could only hope he still kept enough for himself.

He also encouraged her to keep looking for some decent husband to marry and be happy with, though not without adding that he'd beat up anyone who wasn't good enough for her. It made her laugh. Her little brother could be so funny sometimes. But it also made her sigh, because it was so clear Sō-chan worried for her. As did Aunt Natsue, as did Kondo… as did _he_ , surely, because Tōshirō was far too kind not to be concerned for her and want her to be happy. It was just that Tōshirō's idea of happiness for Mitsuba wasn't the same as her own. An old story. It couldn't be helped.

She started to chop vegetables for dinner (leeks, carrots, bell pepper, chili fruit, wasabi). Not for the first time, she thought that it would be so much easier if she could simply wake up one morning and find herself married. Her duty would be obvious, then: to cherish and serve her new husband as much as she was able, for as long as she could. It would likely take a lot of energy and effort, and she'd probably not make a very good wife. But the way forward would be clear, and that in itself would be a relief.

There wouldn't be all these doubts and uncertainties; all these introductions and negotiations and sounding-forward, the marriage-meetings that sometimes happened and often fell through, and nothing to come of it... On the one hand, she didn't want to disappoint Aunt Natsue or worry Sō-chan and the others: for their sake she wanted to make a cheerful effort and try to make a good impression on men who might be prospective husbands. But on the other, she had to ask herself if it was truly a good thing to saddle some poor man with someone like her, of poor health and past the usual marriage age, with no wealth, connection or prestigious family name to make up for it. Should her duty truly be to manoeuvre for that? It was hard to say, while she was still a spinster.

And deep inside her there was a small, stubborn voice that muttered, "I don't want to get married. I couldn't get the one I wanted, so I'd rather do without."

That was a childish voice. You couldn't let it out to be heard, shouldn't let it decide what you did. But it was there.

* * *

She shared some of these doubts and worries with the wandering monk that evening, after the weather had cleared and the sweet autumn air had tempted her to take a walk to the shrine. She didn't mention Sō-chan's letter and was vague on details for the sake of propriety, but she wanted to talk of these matters to someone, all the same, even if they didn't have advice to give.

To her surprise, the monk listened closely and then nodded in agreement when she finished with, "It's just so hard when you're not sure what the right thing is. And you can't just trust others to tell you." Because her near ones were so wrapped up in "make Mitsuba happy as quickly as possible", and didn't seem to realise how troubling these things could be. As for acquaintances who were less close to her, well, they weren't all that interested to start with. They would only advise her to do whatever was the most expected thing.

"Yes, that's true..." the monk said now. "There's nothing so important as having certainty in which path to walk, where your duty takes you." He spoke slowly and thoughtfully, in a voice that seemed to be made for making speeches, impressing and inspiring novices. It reminded her of Kondo. "The kind of certainty that doesn't come from outside, but from within your soul. Sometimes fulfilling one's duty will make one happy, sometimes it will be unpleasant: but as long as the certainty remains, there is nothing to complain about."

She nodded. It sounded right to her, correct. "Yes. That is all we can ask for."

They sat in silence for a minute or two, while the setting sun lengthened the shadows around them by the shrine, before it was time for her to get up, bow and walk away, managing to make it out of sight and hopefully out of earshot before a bad cough came over her.

* * *

The days passed.

Nothing much happened. Mitsuba kept to her routines at home, her small household not too much to handle most days, and she was now able to hire a neighbourhood girl to come in and help out once a week. The weather kept being fair and crisp, windy but not rainy or even cloudy. She was able to keep up her daily walks to the shrine. When she went there in the morning one day, there was no-one else there; but when she returned that same evening, the monk was there again, as he was the other evenings. He seemed to grow healthier every day.

Sometimes they talked, sometimes they were quiet. Unlike some chatty monks that Mitsuba had known in her day, this one didn't seem to have a need to fill up his every moment with words. But he never looked like he disliked her company, either. For Mitsuba's part, she found it restful.

One evening she found him sitting on that same spot looking at a piece of paper, perhaps a letter. He had a troubled look on his face, and while he greeted her politely as always as she approached (putting the paper away in his sleeve), she thought he seemed worn and tired. He closed his eyes for a moment, kneading his forehead and sighing.

"Are you unwell, lord monk?" asked Mitsuba.

"Aah… it's nothing," he said bleakly. After a brief pause, he went on, with more life in his voice, "…I suppose I am a little bothered after going grocery shopping today. The prices in this town are so steep!"

"I suppose they can be," said Mitsuba blithely. This seemed like a front to cover up whatever it was that truly concerned him, but she could play along.

"Yes, they certainly can!" he fumed. "Especially the noodles and condiments. I understand that tends to happen when there's no real competition in a town, but still-! Disgraceful!" he exclaimed peevishly, sounding for all the world like an aggrieved housewife. Mitsuba giggled.

"Anyway," he went on, glancing over at her, "what about Mitsuba-dono? Are you well today?"

"Oh… oh, yes," she said. "Nothing to complain about." She picked up a beautiful red maple leaf from the ground, admiring how symmetrical it was. "My Auntie came by," she said, meaning Aunt Natsue. She couldn't keep from sighing, just a little. "She's a dear, but I do wish sometimes she wouldn't exert herself so much for my sake, at her age and all. She talked about setting up a new marriage-meeting for me," she added, carrying her smile like a shield. "But I'm not sure if I'll accept it... It's not that I'm picky. I just doubt that anything would come of it. I'm not exactly a great catch." She chuckled wryly, but was surprised to see the monk's face stiffen in a frown.

"This is nonsense," he muttered. "Mitsuba-dono, you are beautiful, kind-hearted, dutiful, generous, and a delight to spend any kind of time with. Any man should count himself happy and grateful beyond measure to be rewarded with your companionship."

She blinked. And took a moment to rally with a light laugh. "Oh, such flattery! Should a man of the cloth really be saying such things?"

He reddened and looked away. "N-no," he admitted, which only served to take her more aback. "I suppose not."

A pause followed, and she considered his words again. 'Any kind of time with', no matter how short? That was a terribly romantic line of thought, as in songs and stories.

"Well," she said eventually, her tone less light now, but calm. "The world is the way it is. Even if I had truly been as charming as you claim..." She let that trail off, shrugging, although he still wasn't looking at her. Surely the meaning was obvious - with a poor health and no wealth to offer, nobody in the real world would be as foolish as that. "But I do not think I am much to be pitied. I have money to live on and a dear little brother I am very proud of, whose letters and visits bring me great joy. And I have... someone else to be proud of, if only from afar." She felt a soft blush, and was glad for the twilight. "It would be worse... I think it would be worse to have a whole heart to offer, and finding nobody to give it to."

And she wouldn't be able to offer anyone that, after all. Not a whole one. So perhaps it was all for the best, in the end, when you thought about it.

* * *

Mitsuba owned a telephone at home, but it didn't see much use. Long-distance telephone calls were so expensive, and she'd made it clear to her brother that he should only call if it was truly an emergency. Local calls were much cheaper, but then there usually wasn't much need for them in this small a town, where you could easily reach people on foot.

So she was surprised to find herself being telephoned the next day not by one but by two people, first Sō-chan and then Kondo. After greetings and asking about her health, Sō-chan got that tone of forced nonchalance in his voice as he asked if she'd heard about the incident last week over by one of the neighbouring towns, on the road.

"Oh… yes, the newspaper here mentioned it. Some kind of attack on a delivery?" she said uncertainly. It hadn't seemed to be a _big_ thing. "With property stolen and damaged, people wounded, but no deaths…" The report had made it sound like common banditry, but if her brother knew about it, did that mean it had a political aspect? "Should I be worried?" she asked frankly.

A pause followed, then, "Ah… it's probably nothing. Just local police filing dumb reports. They're just over-excited. Still…" - another brief pause, and then the nonchalance was completely gone – "just be extra careful for a few days, Ane-ue. Don't go on any long excursions and be on your guard against anything weird. And call me if anyone's being mean to you so I can come kill them."

"Sō-chan…" she chided gently.

"Actually, just call if there's anything unusual. Anything at all. Just… please do it. Promise?" He sounded so seriously concerned that she was taken aback.

"I promise," she said firmly, and he seemed satisfied with that. They chatted just a little more before she could get him to hang up and not waste all his money.

Shortly after that, the telephone rang again. This time it was her brother's boss. Kondo hadn't known that Sōgo had already called her, it turned out. He had a little bit more to say about the mysterious matter.

"We've just had reports that it might have been part of a bigger operation than people first thought," he said in that voice of mountain-like solidity, the one that couldn't help but inspire confidence in people. "But don't worry, Mitsuba-dono. Even if that's true, it will be cleared up in no time, now that Tōshi and the others are on it. Just be a little bit more careful than usual, and try not to leave town for a few days. Sōgo already told you that? Good, good! I shoulda known. But I just felt I had to make sure, when it's Mitsuba-dono and all!" He laughed warmly. Then, before she could take the chance to change the subject, he went on to say, in a lower tone, "We're keeping it under wraps that we're looking at it, though. Was Tōshi's idea, but I agree with him. Not a good idea if it gets out that the Shinsengumi pays extra attention to this one area, just because most of us are from there. That could just cause more problems for people living there."

"…Oh. I see what you mean." After a moment, Mitsuba added, "You shouldn't tell me these things, Kondo-san. I'm just a civilian." She never asked them detailed questions that concerned their work, and normally they didn't say anything, either. It was confidential, and not proper for her to know. "…But thank you. For the warning."

"You're right!" Kondo gave a slightly embarrassed laugh. "Mitsuba-dono is always so clever. But I know you're not going to repeat it to anyone else. So it's fine in the end."

She sighed, unable to keep the smile out of her voice. "If you say so, Kondo-san."

Minutes later, she looked out through the window at the clouds in the sky. It looked like it would rain. She pulled her shawl tighter around her and went to make a second cup of tea. Her head was feeling heavy.

It was troubling.

* * *

The rain came in the afternoon and continued for hours. Mitsuba stayed at home that evening, having no energy for a walk underneath her umbrella, not feeling like climbing slippery stones to a shrine. Next morning, however, was bright and sunny, and as if to make up for last night's sluggishness, her body felt brighter as well.

"I'll even go for a longer walk than usual," she decided, talking to herself as there was no-one around. "I'll go to the edge of the northern forest and pick mushrooms!" She brought a basket and set off.

She'd played in that forest a lot as a child, and there was one specific spot where you could find delicious mushrooms. Some might say that a woman of the samurai class shouldn't go picking food in the forest like a peasant girl, especially since she didn't truly need it. But it wasn't that improper, really. People were too fuddy-duddy at times. Besides, nobody might even see her.

And she _was_ supposed to take plenty of walks!

Having justified her whim to herself, she still remembered to keep to a gentle pace so she wouldn't get tired quickly. She passed the fork in the road where you turned left to go to the shrine, turned right instead, and walked past houses and fields and ditches until she'd reached the edge of the northern forest.

To her delight, there were still mushrooms in the old spot she remembered, not far from a clearing. She filled the basket and then sat down on the ground to rest, in a place where the sun drifted in through the leaves (oak and hazel and birch). It made her nostalgic, but in a manner more content than yearning. She smiled to herself, closing her eyes with the warmth of the sun on her eyelids, and drifted off into a slumber.

Looking back on it later, she realised that even though the sun shone on the patch where she was sitting, it was still not a very open and visible spot from the clearing. Her still form and her green and yellow kimono must also have made her easy to overlook. When she woke up, she also happened to be fairly slow in her movements, in spite of a slight confusion; she didn't rustle any leaves, but sat still for a while. At first just to gather more strength to get up, but then for another reason.

In the clearing, a man was moving alone, back and forth. She blinked for a moment before realizing he was doing katas. Then another moment. He was a little far away, he'd taken off his broad-brimmed hat and his outer robe, but now she recognised the wandering monk.

His form looked good to her eyes. Certainly, he was moving without being visibly hindered by any injury, in smooth, exact, and remarkably fast moves. He seemed very light on his feet, this monk.

But he wasn't using a staff as one might expect. Nor was he bare-handed, or using a wooden sword.

No, that was the unmistakable gleam of a real sword moving through the clearing, the light of the sun catching it and the man wielding it.

Oh.

* * *

He finished his exercises and left the clearing, not through the same way she had came. She controlled her breathing, waited a little longer even after she could no longer hear his steps, before slowly getting up and going home.

There were necessary chores to do. Slowly, the day passed.

She did some shopping for dinner. There was no enlightening gossip in the shop or on the streets. Remembering the telephone calls yesterday, she found herself looking around town for "anything unusual", then stopped and quirked a smile at herself. In any case, everything seemed common-place to her. Nothing to report - nothing _else_ to report.

But she made it home and cooked dinner and swept the floors and did the dishes and prepared a dough that would keep until tomorrow. Then she couldn't stop herself anymore, or her feet wouldn't be still. She put on her shawl and went out.

She'd half expected the shrine to be empty, but he was still there, that monk. He looked over as she came up the steps, his face growing brighter. But it also seemed determined.

"Good afternoon," she said, as it couldn't be said to be evening yet. He returned the greeting.

She walked on into the shrine, made a coin offering, a new prayer, and then returned to the seat by the entrance. She sat down, as usual. The road home hadn't grown any shorter, after all.

He cleared his throat. "Mitsuba-dono ," he said. "I don't think I have any more use for this nausea medicine now. Please take it." He held out the bottle from that first meeting to her. Instead of protesting politely, she took a moment, then nodded without a smile and accepted it.

"Are your injuries all healed now, lord monk?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, nodding. "I've also received the word I was looking for. I'll be leaving shortly." A moment's pause, then he said, "Thank you for looking out for me."

The autumn sky suddenly looked very dreary, even with the bright autumn colours of the trees surrounding it.

And perhaps just because there was nothing else left to say to this kind stranger who had listened and talked to her this past week, she said what she hadn't meant to say.

"I saw you this morning. In the northern forest. Doing exercises."

He actually started. He stared at her for a moment before collecting himself, putting his hands in his lap.

"...I didn't sense you," he admitted.

"I suppose I must have been more quiet than usual," she said. "But it was careless of you."

 _Are you going to tell me you keep that sword around for sentimental reasons?_ she wondered. _Or perhaps that you need it for defence against dangers on the road? Or that you're actually a police spy, with full permission to wear it?_

But the monk, or whatever he was, didn't say any of those things. He only sat there and met her gaze steadily, in silence.

She looked down at the ground, then, an odd smile tugging at her lips. It was all so absurd, wasn't it? Some unknown impulse made her say, softly, "What would you do if I said I've just been to the police to report what I saw?"

He closed his eyes and sighed. "Then…" He trailed off, opening his eyes again, and touched his shoulder, stretching carefully. "…If Mitsuba-dono has done that," he continued, putting his water flask into his pack as he spoke, "there is no need for concern." He put the pack on his back and closed its straps: his movements were neat and precise, as usual, neither hurried nor drawn out. "I would, of course, have a legitimate reason to defy the sword ban, one which I would give to the authorities in confidence." He adjusted the broad-brimmed hat, grabbed his staff and stood up, as he continued, "The police are known for being reasonable, after all." A rare small smile appeared on his face briefly, making him look even younger.

She stood up, too. Now she found she could smile in a more genuine way.

She knew that he knew that she knew he was lying, but she wasn't as sure if he understood that she had done nothing of what she'd just implied.

Then again, did it matter any? He would be leaving now, in any case.

"I have settled on where my own duty lies now, lord monk," she told him, "as small as it may be in the scheme of things."

He cocked his head at her. "Aah?"

She nodded. "My near ones worry about me. It may be that they're right, and that I shouldn't let a chance for happiness slip me by. I've decided that I will attend this next marriage meeting, if it happens, and the next one after that, and so on; if they happen. So long as the man in question sounds decent, I will give him a chance, at the very least. It might lead to something good."

She paused for breath, looking not down but away, into the woods. "But I refuse to be deceitful. From now on, I will be open and honest about my sickness, even if I'm not asked about it. I will not pretend to be stronger and healthier than I am. That would be dishonourable." Nor would she let go of the memory of her first love and try to pretend he didn't still have her heart. But that part was only about being honest to herself, and didn't need to be spoken out loud.

"It is a good thing," he said slowly, "to find a duty that does not lead anywhere dishonourable." He adjusted his pack, then reached out to catch a golden leaf as it tumbled down. "Mitsuba-dono is a very strong woman."

"Hm," she said, not quite feeling like agreeing, nor like disagreeing. "Take care on the road, lord monk. Or... whatever you should properly be called." The last bit was added in earnest, not meant as a jibe.

He smiled again, turning to go, waving in the air. "Do not worry about me. I'm well enough to run, now, so I will be fine. Be well, Mitsuba-dono."

She watched him walk away the first few steps, the autumn leaves tumbling down around him, his staff jingling. And in spite of his words just now, his slender shoulders seemed full of confidence, as if utterly sure of the road ahead.

Raising her voice, she called out, "Be wary of grocers. I hear the noodles are even more expensive in the other towns around here."

"Those bastards!" he called back, slowing down for a few steps, but not stopping. "...Thank you. For warning me." He still held the golden leaf.

And then he was gone.

Mitsuba waited a minute before starting her own walk back. At the top of the steps she realised she'd forgotten the bottle of nausea medicine, so she turned back and picked it up again. It didn't do to go around and waste things, after all.

She did fine, walking home in the sunset. There was a deep calm inside her that felt old and brand new at the same time. It didn't matter what anyone else said - she would walk her own way forward, and that was that.

The trees around her rustled in the wind.


End file.
